


I Feel Fine

by mercurysensei



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4171089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurysensei/pseuds/mercurysensei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Seven years later, eight boys from Hyoutei travel cross country in an RV; it's the end of the world as we know it.<br/>Notes: While writing this, I listened to the Zac Brown Band's You Get What You Give album on repeat. Some of it slithered on in, and I don't own a lick of it.<br/>Written for the Spring Prince of Tennis Exchange :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Feel Fine

It had been seven years since they were all together in junior high school. Despite their separate directions, Hyoutei made the effort to gather at least once every year for an extravagant reunion.

This year was Shishido’s turn to make plans. Everyone looked forward to it with dread, except Ohtori, who had far too much faith in his boyfriend (his pet, if one asked Atobe). Perhaps they were even justified; Shishido had been driving for over forty minutes, on a dirt road for the last ten, to pick up some mysterious object that he would only describe as the coolest fucking thing ever.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Mukahi complained as they pulled up to a weather beaten house in the middle of nowhere.

Shishido rolled his eyes and went around to open the backseat door. Jirou tumbled out onto the dirt and mumbled a little in his sleep, undisturbed by the fall. “You’re about to feel really stupid, because this is basically the most awesome thing my uncle has ever bought.”

Mukahi manhandled one of Jirou’s legs into his grip and scowled at Shishido, who had latched onto one of the blonde’s arms. “Yeah? The same uncle who thought paintballs were eggs and tried to hatch them?”

“...Shut up,” Shishido grumbled. Together, they dragged Jirou round to the back of his uncle’s property.

Gakuto took one look at the 1980s RV covered in twigs and cracked up. “Oh fucking shit, you can’t be serious. This isn’t going to work. Atobe is gonna die a virgin before Jirou even has a chance and your boyfriend is will hate you for shoving him and us into a death trap, fuckwit.”

“What the hell you talking about?! We had some great family trips in this ol’ girl! If anything’s gonna work, this will!”

“ _Sugoi_!”

Shishido and Gakuto whirled around to see that Jirou had clamored into the driver’s side with enough eagerness to rip the door off the hinges and onto the grass.

“Errr...we can fix that before next week — Oi, Jirou!” Shishido dashed to the van.

The bright blond waved at them from behind a wheel bigger than his head, completely not expecting a thrashing from Shishido.

Gakuto sat on the fallen door. “We’re all gonna die.”

—

“We’re all going to die,” Hiyoshi was the first to arrive at Shishido’s dormitory complex. He stared at the RV and screamed only on the inside.

Oshitari wasn’t far behind him. He rested his chin upon Hiyoshi’s head and recited, “Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.”

“Where was that attitude last night when you found a spider in the shower?” Gakuto rolled his eyes as he shuffled up to the pair.

The sound of suitcase wheels on concrete filled the short silence.

“Oh, _someone_ may be stabbed today today, but certainly not in the back,” disdain dripped from Atobe’s every syllable. Atobe dropped his purse in anger, toppling the rest of his LV designer luggage like dominos. He was much too occupied staring at the awful, dirty contraption to care. It was so disparate from the rest of his life that he shouldn’t have been forced to look upon it. His private jet must have forgotten the route to Japan in the last year and crashed in the Alps on the way from England. Pity, he only just had it painted with his lovely visage — completely wasted on unfeeling mountains! Death was cruel. Except was that Jirou waving at him from behind the steering wheel, beckoning him to death? “This welcome is dreadful. I demand a better one.”

The hugs and inquiries that followed consoled Atobe a little, but not quite enough to make him forget the mess of a vehicle before him.

“Perhaps...it’s a movie trailer?” Taki suggested hopefully, once he pulled back from Atobe. “Shishido’s Uncle seemed very Hollywood. Is Kamenashi Kazuya inside?! Oh goodness, I’m not ready….”

“The same uncle who asked why Andrea Boccelli can speak English even though he’s blind?” Oshitari asked while neatly to dodging Gakuto’s angry grab for his knapsack full of movies. “Honestly, dear, if you expect me to suffer a road trip without a fuss, best leave my entertainment.”

Close to perishing, Taki fell to his knees and choked, “...Road...trip? In that thing?”

“Well, that looks familiar,” Shishido mumbled to himself. At his side, Ohtori frowned.

“Shishido-san...maybe you shouldn’t say things like that.”

Being called _Shishido—san_ after almost five years of dating silenced the brunette. The only place that title belonged now was in their bedroom! “Sorry,” he grumbled, not particularly sorry at all. “Do you like it? I mean. Do you like...road trips?” after all these years, he had never taken Ohtori on a road trip. He felt like a terrible boyfriend.

One look at Shishido’s face and a flush bridged Ohtori’s nose. “Y-yeah, I love road trips.” Just because Ohtori had never been on a road trip didn’t mean he couldn’t love them.

When Shishido turned his back to try and lure Jirou from the driver’s seat, Hiyoshi handed Ohtori a motion sickness pouch and boarded the questionable RV. If they left Atobe behind, it was almost as good as besting him personally.

Atobe sighed and dropped his sunglasses from his hairline to the bridge of his nose for a selfie. He pressed send and a little _seen_ checkmark appeared seconds later. “That clown car of Ryou’s better be bigger from the inside.”

It was regrettably not bigger from the inside. Eight college-age boys were not meant to fit into a dilapidated death trap of a van.

“Not a van, an RV,” Shishido insisted. He had successfully ousted Jirou from the driver’s seat. “And it’s _vintage._ You like it, right, Choutarou?”

“UHmm…” Ohtori couldn’t quite find the words to describe his horror, so he just said, “Yeah, it’s really...not something I’ve ever done before.”

Shishido turned the key. “Exactly. Live a little, Atobe.”

“No. I refuse. You are going to return this piece of junk to your uncle, and we will spend our spring break at the Bali estate —”

“Atobe,” Jirou interrupted, smiling up at him with just the right measure of charm and uncertainty. “Come sit with me. There’s room right here.” He patted the spot between his spread legs.

Silence came over the RV. Everyone watched the scales shift visibly in Atobe’s mind. The silence only felt like silence when Hyoutei’s former king sat on the creaking bed.

Shishido flicked on the radio and pulled out onto the road.

“So where are we going?” Gakuto asked.  
Jirou pulled Atobe back against him like a teddy bear. The blond turned his face into Atobe’s armpit, which smelled better than any armpit had a right to, and said, “Who cares?”

—

It wasn’t that they ran out of things to say to each other. Just that when silence washed over the RV, no one did anything to stop it. Even if most of them missed the opportunity to meet most of the year, at times like these, they were just as comfortable with each other as they were seven years ago.

Which was why Taki whipped out a mix CD and popped it into the RV’s slot.

“Hmm, what’s that?” Shishido asked, keeping his eyes on the wheel.

“My ex-boyfriend gave it to me!”

“Oh? Are you still heartbroken, Taki?” Oshitari asked. Hyoutei’s former tensai sat languidly in the passenger side, his fingers combing through the air out the window. “Come sit on my lap for comfort.”

Taki didn’t take the invitation, but he held onto the back of Oshitari’s chair and drummed his fingers on the genius’ shoulders as the rhythm of the first track started. “Not at all,” he answered, quite amused. “I dumped him, I just liked the music.”

“Did you let his uneven face get to you?” Shishido narrowed his eyes with judgment.

“Hey! Symmetry is very important to me!”

“...I really hoped you had been joking about that,” he screwed up his face and set his eyes back on the road.

Atobe agreed to an extent. There was something comfortable about symmetry. At the same time, his eyes always lingered longer on a face that was just a little bit off. Even if he tried to avert his gaze, an inexplicable allure drew him back. He liked tiny freckles, curls, and the spikes of color in striking eyes. Whether these things were beautiful to begin with, or he stared until they became so, Atobe had no clue. “There’s something to be said for singularity.”

“You know, Atobe. You’d be much more attractive if you had a mole on each side.” Everyone except for Atobe laughed. Ohtori tried to politely hide his smile behind the sheet music he was marking, but ultimately failed. Taki continued, “In terms of symmetry, after myself, Hiyoshi is the most beautiful. I could look at his haircut all day long.”

All but howling, Gakuto wiped his eyes and said, “Oh Hiyoshi, you sexy thing! Won’t you be my wife?”

“I thought I was your wife?” Oshitari looked aghast for a moment. “Or am I the secret spice to your marriage? Do I climb up from the gardens to join the two of you in bed every night? Am I the hush-hush father of one of Hiyoshi’s children? Goodness, I’ll have to phone Kabaji and ask his advice on childcare.”

Hiyoshi took on a magnificent shade of red and growled at Oshitari. “I’m going to kill you first.”

“If things are going to get kinky, I’ll be demanding a safe word.”

Losing patience, Hiyoshi threw his book at Oshitari. The genius dodged and the book’s spine collided with the windshield.

“OI! Driving here!” Shishido shouted. “Murder him when we get there! Fucking lameasses…” Clearly Taki’s music was making everyone crazy. Shishido went to eject it, but nothing happened. “The hell….” the RV swerved dangerously.

Ohtori looked at the tiny Honda in the neighboring lane and worried for its safety. “Ryou, everything okay?”

“The CD is stuck! The hell did you do Taki?! Do you have to fuck up everything?!”

“Hey, don’t yell at him, your RV is a piece of crap!”

“What do you mean my RV is a piece of crap!”

Atobe sighed and turned back to the sleeping blond. Somehow, Jirou managed to completely mold himself to Atobe’s side. He closed his eyes and focused on the English words pouring from the second-hand stereo.

_Sunrise is a fire in the sky_  
Never been so happy never felt so high  
And I think I might’ve found me my own kind of paradise 

—

Some four hours later, the eight boys emerged gratefully from the confines of the RV. The field of grapes ahead stretched onto the edges of Atobe’s vision like an endless tent. Finally, something familiar. But should there not be a chateau for them to partake of the fruit?

“A winery? Ne, Shishido, have you finally grown some taste?” Taki elbowed Shishido playfully.

Frowning, Shishido said, “Hey, watch where you fling those things. Who the hell want to drink wine? We’re grape picking, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Oshitari echoed. “Where did you find these idiots, Ryou? On the side of the road?”

“The hell —” Gakuto jumped onto Oshitari’s back. Though Oshitari pretended to howl at the sound of Gakuto growling in his ear, the little smile on his face forced Hiyoshi to roll his eyes. Maybe it wasn’t too late to walk home. Or walk to Mount Fuji and beg a tourist to take him back to Tokyo.

Ohtori opened his mouth, then closed it again with Gakuto’s next yelp, then opened it again only to shut it again when Hiyoshi wondered loudly if he could get away with drowning Atobe and Oshitari together in a wine vat. “Um —” he interrupted Oshitari’s swooning over such a romantic end. “Maybe we should check out the demonstration.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Shishido said, relieved. He didn’t say anything further, but the way Shishido leaned his head against him for few seconds on the walk over spoke volumes to Ohtori.

Half an hour later, Atobe plucked some grapes from the vine adjacent to Ohtori and grumbled, “How do you deal with him?” He dropped the bunch into his pail and went after the next, because he intended to prove his superiority in all tasks, including those belonging to commoners.

Ohtori was gentler with his grapes. The shadows of the leaves tattooed his light skin. “You mean I get to deal with him.”

How droll. Atobe frowned and turned his attention to a fat bundle of grapes just above his eye level.

“It’s been seven years, Atobe-san. If I learned anything at all, it’s that a relationship only as perfect as you let it be,” With a deep chuckle that he seem to have grown into, Ohtori continued, “If I wanted to see everything bad about Ryou-san, I would….He’s...like my scud serve. Not always accurate, but with practice and a little faith…” his smile went a little boyish and silly. Atobe wondered if it was even possible for Shishido and Ohtori to keep it in their pants.

“Ugh, wipe that look from your face, I feel unclean.”

As if they were fifteen again, Ohtori flushed and fumbled his basket of grapes. “It wasn’t —! I mean, I wasn’t thinking about…”

“Oi! You picking on Choutarou!” Shishido called from a few patches over. He threw a clump of dirt warningly near Atobe.

Dodging the dirt seamlessly, Atobe drew out his phone. Naturally, it was already on front camera. Unfortunately, Jirou bending over impeded the view of Mount Fuji in the background of his selfie. Instead of taking another shot, Atobe kept it and hit send with a little smile.

—

It was dark by the time they left Yamanishi. They all hoped that Shishido booked actual accommodation in Nagoya. One by one, people dozed off. Atobe on the bed with Jirou upside down on top of him; Taki, hair half in cornrows and curled into Oshitari’s side; Ohtori in a magnificent spread eagle sprawl on the floor (the only place the tall boy could sprawl at all) with Shishido’s bomber jacket tucked over him; and Hiyoshi hogged a corner in the fetal position.

“Hey, look at them. Your proximity thing might actually be working,” Gakuto said, then quickly corrected, “...not that I’m agreeing that this was a good idea, because it’s not.”

Shishido snorted behind the wheel. “It was totally a good idea. You just need to fucking admit it. Jirou’s all over him.”

“Jirou’s always all over everyone. Just because he likes being all over Atobe more doesn’t mean anything.”

Because that was pretty true, Shishido could only argue, “At least Atobe is allowing it? More than usual…and he seems happier, considering.”

“Probably because there’s no one to really see how much Jirou is fucking up his hair. Though he has been texting an awful lot —”

“With that stupid smirk. Who do you think he’s talking to?”

Shishido pursed his lips. “Tezuka? Years later and that guy still works him up. Poor Ji…”

“Would Tezuka text that much?” Gakuto shook his head. “Maybe it’s that Echizen brat? He is using the international phone.”

“I think he’d look more infuriated than pleased.”

“We just gotta...give ‘em more time?”

“Yeah...we’ve barely been all together, except for Atobe’s dad’s funeral last year. Then Atobe moved the damn company to England,” and beyond their reach, mostly. Phone calls were too easy to ignore. Shishido gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Gakuto peered back at the sleeping group. “Are you seriously mad at him? It’s weird. Super weird. Being mad at someone for not letting you do anything.”

“That’s not why I’m mad!”

“Keep it down, you’re gonna wake them up,” Shishido fell silent. When his family fell on hard times, Atobe had been the one to help them. It just didn’t seem right for Atobe to run away when he needed his friends the most. Shishido understood that he needed to be with Kabaji in England more than he needed to be in Japan with them, but he could at least pick up the damn phone when called. Or respond to text, if knotting threads of his family company kept him that busy (which he didn’t doubt, but Atobe had never been _too busy_ for anything he really wanted to accomplish).

Gakuto cut through the silence. “…You fall in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”

Shishido looked away from the road long enough to eye Gakuto like he just gave birth. The high beams from the car passing them reflected his expression in the rearview. “What the fuck? You quote Yuushi now?”

“Yanno, when you love someone, you’ll watch the Fault in Our Stars sixty-seven times just because they want to,” and the worst bit was that Oshitari didn’t even want to make out during movies. Just cry and use Gakuto as part-time tissue, part-time teddy bear. It was completely disgusting.

“...And go to crazy long recitals to hear them play one song,” Shishido smiled a little.

“Let them practice taking your pulse as many times as they need to, even when they tell you that you’re going to have a heart attack in the next thirty seconds.”

“Listen to them play the same chords over and over again all day long to get it just right when they all sound _exactly_ the same.”

“Fuck, you wouldn’t believe the hours of shopping.”

“All of our furniture costs a fortune, because he’s so damn tall.”

“Don’t cry about expensive until you hear about how much mayonnaise we buy!”

They both laughed and drowned out the dulcet tones on the radio.

“You’re right,” Shishido said. “We’ve just gotta give him…them, more time. See if they fall asleep before the song plays out.”

Gakuto smirked. “What are you, quoting Ohtori now?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Shishido grumbled. He saw their exit for Nagoya coming up ahead and put on his directional.

“Please tell me you booked an actual hotel and that we’re not camping.”

“I do have _some_ sense of self preservation.”

Gakuto sighed with relief.

—

“This is the worst wine I’ve ever tasted,” Oshitari commented. He took a swig and continued to stroll down the bar and karaoke illuminated streets of Nagoya. The eight men had been far too antsy to even pick a restaurant, let alone settle down in their two-star accommodations. A long walk was the only cure to a long day on the road.

Grumbling on Atobe’s coat tails, Hiyoshi said, “Then buy your own wine next time. I bought that for my parents.”

“We’ll buy your parents something nicer, Piyo,” Gakuto took the bottle from Oshitari and drained it. Ohtori received the empty bottle and placed it in the recycling.

“Let’s buy _us_ something nicer,” Shishido said, and detoured into a convenience store. Jirou rode on Shishido’s back. His golden curls spilled over Shishido’s shoulder to mix with smooth brown hair.

Atobe thought that Shishido looked silly hefting around Jirou, who was almost the same size, but Ohtori looked at his boyfriend as if he were the last decent pastry in this terrible excuse for a store. Why should a place like this be called Family Mart anyway? Where were the families and what exactly should they be doing? No one was purchasing any families. It was too much of hovel to fit any family with whom he wished to associate. At any rate, Atobe decided that Ohtori letting his guard down was as good a reason as any to steal the pudding from his basket. If he was going to drink a chu-hai, he might as well pair it with other commoner delights.

“Jirou likes those, grab one for him too,” Shishido tapped Atobe on the calf with his foot. Worried, Atobe watched Shishido start to lose balance. He stepped in front of them to try and balance the flailing brunette, but only succeeded in cushioning their fall.

Taki’s light, tinkling laughter filled the conbini. He put his bottle of whiskey between his legs to take a few pictures. “What a nice, vacation pigpile.”

Hiyoshi hid behind Oshitari. He assumed Oshitari was engrossed with the big tit, bikini models to notice. Then Oshitari lowered the book to ask Hiyoshi which lady was his type. Gakuto picked up third beer for himself.

Somehow, when it came time for check out, everyone’s baskets ended up in front of Atobe. With veteran flourish, he handed over his credit card and the rest of his band filed their way out of the conbini, leaving the shelves sparse.

“On nights like this, I really can’t believe that it’s been seven years since we were a team,” Taki took a swig of whiskey straight out of the bottle. “It feels kind of like junior high.”

“Minus the whole drinking in the street thing,” Shishido pointed out. His words had Atobe examining his drink and wondering why he ever left England. At this time of night, he ought to be in the sitting room sharing a nightcap with Kabaji and debriefing their respective days. He itched to check his phone. Was Kabaji missing them?

“Karaoke rooms, Atobe’s houses, the limousine rides...we were much classier,” Gakuto walked alongside Shishido, carrying Jirou’s jacket.

“And now we’re going around in your shitty RV and sleeping in a place that doesn’t even have cable. What happened?”

“I was dragged down by all of you. That’s what happened,” Hiyoshi crossed his arms. “Can we just go back to the hotel now?”

“Why, so you can mope and scheme?” Taki teased and pulled Hiyoshi closer to him by one of his belt loops. “We’re sorry we drank your wine. Have some of this!” it was very difficult for Hiyoshi to refuse when Taki all but shoved the bottle into his face.

Ohtori sighed happily and dug into the pudding that Atobe had guilty returned to him. “We really should take a group picture tonight. The first night of our reunion trip together.”

“Fantastic, Ohtori-kun,” Oshitari draped an arm about the tall man’s shoulders and pretended not to notice the way his friend flustered to the touch. “Let’s go for _purikura_.”

Shishido growled, and struggled to try and kick Oshitari while holding Jirou on his back. “Idiot, we don’t have any girls. They won’t let us in.”

“We made all these cookies,” Jirou murmured sleepily, fists curling in Shishido’s jacket. “They havta fit in the oven…”

Jirou’s sleeptalk silenced the men; Hyoutei wasn’t Hyoutei for nothing. The more savvy of their members herded the others like little lambs to a colorful clothing store filled with generously ruffled clothing store.

“I’m sorry, customers, we’re in the process of closing,” the saleswoman bowed her apology.

Oshitari approached and slunk down to her eye level, just on the cusp of being too close. “Her eyes were those of someone who’s just fallen in love, someone who sees nothing but her lover, someone who has no fear of anything.”

First, she was taken aback. Then, an excited bridge of red cut across the woman’s nose. “The eyes of someone who believes that every dream will come true. That reality will move if you just give it a push.” After a moment, she coughed, and drew slightly back from Oshitari. “How did you…?”

Laughing easily, Oshitari said, “Apologies. I saw the book popping out of your purse just there.”

Gakuto flattened his eyelids and said, “Ryou, if you’re my friend, you’ll kill me.”

“Idiot. If you’re _my_ friend, you’ll help me, Jirou is getting seriously heavy — HEY!”

Taki grinned and hefted Jirou up into his arms. “Let’s make you beautiful, _hime-sama_!”

Shishido and Gakuto looked at each other.

“Do you think we should stop him?”

“No, not really.”

After fixing a leopard print ball cap on his head, Atobe took a seat on the small bench in front of the changing rooms. He overheard Taki fussing over the size, and barely dodged as a discard dress few over the door toward his feet. 

_What ruffians I have raised,_ he texted and watched the seen message flick up.

There was no answer. Not that he particularly needed one when Jirou stepped out of the changing room in a pretty, short yellow dress. Taki tucked a matching flower clip into those messy curls. Jirou looked at Atobe intently, as though waiting for him to say something.

“Very good,” Atobe studied the animated man. Though he wrecked his brain for a more appropriate compliment for the Jirou, he never had the opportunity to deliver.

Jirou beamed energetically and bent over to grasp Atobe’s knees and put his face very close. Even though Taki hadn’t forced Jirou into any mascara, he can distinguish Jirou’s long eyelashes. Jirou’s gaze brimmed with bright enthusiasm. “You’re going to take pictures with me, right, Atobe?!”

“Oi!” Gakuto huffed, still gripping Oshitari’s wrist from the duel to pull him away from the cashier. “We’re going to be in the pictures too!”

“I’ll wait in the hotel,” Hiyoshi turned to sneak away.

Taki seized the boy with a none too gentle arm around the shoulders. “You’re coming, and be grateful I didn’t dress _you_ up.” Watching Hiyoshi shudder only seemed to please Taki more. Atobe could relate. Taunting Hiyoshi into personal growth had been a favorite activity of his once upon a time. These days, he hardly heard from Hiyoshi farther than a simple _I’ll overthrow you_ with every step of progress his business took. He supposed it was a sign that Hiyoshi followed his doings. If not for Jirou, dress clad and snuggled into his side as they walked to the nearest game activity center, he might have freed Hiyoshi from Taki’s clutches.

Instead, he sauntered past Hiyoshi and shot him a parting smirk, _sucks to suck._

The attendants looked at them strangely as the proceeded up the stairs, but as they had a _woman_ among them, they were neither stopped nor questioned.

“...” Ohtori stared at the small photo booth. “Um, are we all supposed to get in here?” When he leaned in to take a peek, Taki shoved him right into the booth and squished in afterward.

“Shorties to the front, squish up nice and close to make room,” Oshitari purred and patted Gakuto’s bum as he passed on into the photo space. Hiyoshi covered his ass with his hands and glared directly into the camera.

“Nah, Hiyoshi, you looking to petrify the lens?”

“And me without my mirror,” Oshitari sighed and squashed in after Atobe.

Atobe swallowed. Jirou’s back pressed up against his front. The polyester ruffles brushing his sleeves should have horrified him, but his skin itched in a more unexpected way.

_Three, two, one_

The men squashed in together, each trying to get their face into the photo.

_Three, two, one_

“Let’s all blow kisses!” Taki suggested.

“Hell no!”

“How about a real kiss?”

“KYAH GEROFF ME!”

_Three, two, one_

“Katsuno wa —”

“HYOUTEI!”

Their raised fists to completely obscure the cute-cam.

They usurped the photo booth for another ten sessions. How could they not laugh at their eyes blown up comically big, or put little nameko characters on Hiyoshi’s head, or at roll their eyes at Atobe when he insisted having an entire session of himself doing insight in different poses?

The last photo of Atobe’s was the best; Jirou jumped in onto Atobe’s back and refused to let go. Not even when it was time to leave.

Jirou nuzzled Atobe as they walked back to the hotel, “I missed you.”

“Ah, well of course you did,” even slightly tipsy, Atobe’s practiced poise helped him to respond in the usual way. “I would have liked to see more of you as well.”

“I think if you really wanted to talk to me too, you would have.”

“Jirou, I —”

“Atobe,” Jirou’s soft voice in his ear wavered, but didn’t break. Atobe could taste the chu-hai from the breath wafting down his neck. “I keep trying to hold onto you, but you’re running from me too fast. Not even my wrists can endure,” Atobe felt Jirou turn his face closer, nose skimming his pulse. “Atobe...wears such slippery shirts.”

“My shirts aren’t slippery!” Atobe defended, because he wasn’t quite sure what to say to Jirou’s admission. It didn’t matter. Only soft snoring answered his defense.

—

Kiyomizu temple made Atobe wonder if he had ever been this acutely aware of spring. As they slowly climbed the steps through the hordes, he wondered if he ought to have gone shopping instead. Kabaji might enjoy another fine tea set and he well remembered how to find the finer things in town. Regardless of these thoughts, he blazed onward and upward through fallen petals and expensive kimono prints. It was the feeling of hearing a famous song for the first time and being too self-conscious of not knowing the precise words to sing along with everyone else.

“He must be very ignorant, for he answers every question he is asked,” Oshitari leaned over to murmur in Atobe’s ear. They walked slowly behind the rest of the group.

“I do believe that’s the tour guide’s job, Yuushi,” Atobe noticed that the back of Jirou’s neck was sunburned.

Oshitari sighed and put out a hand to catch some wafting petals. “There’s nothing compelling about easy answers.”

Shishido, who had been walking ahead with Ohtori, turned around to bite, “This from a guy whose tennis was only answers?”

“Really? I thought it was about making people ask only the questions I want to hear. And watching Gak-kun’s moon salute.”

“Pervert,” Gakuto shot at him. Despite his blazing attitude, the redhead looked much improved from yesterday’s fit of jealousy. Atobe almost wondered what kind of words he had for the genius when they returned to their hotel room.

Oshitari grabbed the back of Gakuto’s shirt and pulled him back before he could be swept along a tsunami of red-capped elementary school children. They plodded along after their teacher like little ducks, climbing the stairs like cherry blossoms falling up.

Atobe felt his personal phone buzz. He hadn’t sent any messages from the phone today.

_SOS -Ji_

Pursing his lips in worry, Atobe quickly looked about for Jirou. No luck. The thick crowd was such that he might not even see Jirou a few feet from him.

_Are you all right? Where are you?_

Read.

A few seconds later, Jirou provided a reply: _With Maruyama Junior High School. They don’t believe that I’m not a student ?_

Atobe exhaled. If this would happen to anyone… _Where are you?_

His phone buzzes a few seconds later. He opens the message to see a picture of Jirou surrounded by students in uniform making the ‘v’ sign with him. _The teacher thinks I forgot my uniform…._

Despite himself, Atobe chuckled. He noticed belatedly that their group has moved on without him. No matter, Atobe can see the sprawl of Kyoto in the background of Jirou’s photograph. Naturally, he aimed for the top with long powerful strides up the stairs. The little red-capped elementary students stood still in awe of the intensity creased into his face. 

_When Atobe Keigo goes through, ruffians step aside,_ Atobe noted with pride, sticking his nose high up in the air into a cloud of incense. Coughing, he waved a hand at the hovering smoke and walked backward to nearly fall down a step. A pair of hands braced his back firmly.

“Atobe?” Jirou dropped his forehead against Atobe’s back and kept his hands just so, as if it were the most natural position in the world.

At least it didn’t feel unnatural. Atobe never cared what others thought of him before, and he had no intention to start now.

“I found you,” Atobe declared.

Jirou laughed. It was more of a puff of air against his shirt really. Would it stain? “Atobe was the one standing in a cloud of incense. I’m the one who found you.”

“Ahn? Is that so, Jirou? When you’re the one who called me up here.”

“I told you to find me, not to get lost,” Jirou laughed again. This time Atobe didn’t think about the dry cleaning. “Come on. The view’s really great,” he slipped away just enough to take hold of Atobe’s wrist and bring him out onto the magnificent porch.

Almost all the cherry blossoms had already fallen. Trodden, they covered the ground like a blanket beneath empty branches. Beyond the trees, the old Heian capital sprawled out before them, a collision of old-fashioned pointed roofs and modern, flat buildings. At night, he wondered if the lights drowned out history.

“Look, Atobe!” Jirou leaned over the porch and pointed. “Kyoto Tower! Let’s get a picture with that in the background with the temple.”

“Very well,” Atobe put out his hands for Jirou’s phone. He had longer arms. “Leave it to me.”

Jirou grinned and pressed closer to Atobe. There were pocky crumbs on the collar of Jirou’s shirt; the only reason Atobe put an arm around him was to brush them off. His thumb hovered over the button until he found the ideal shot. Just after he took the shot, the phone lit up with Shishido’s name across the screen. He pushed the phone into Jirou’s hands. Immediately, he could hear Shishido’s secretly worried griping from the other end of the line.

While Jirou spoke with Shishido, Atobe pulled out his own phone. He took the exact same shot with only himself, and sent it along. Atobe stared at the message and appeared gratified when the word _seen_ appeared directly beneath it. Looking back out on Kyoto, Atobe pocketed his phone, only for a different phone to buzz. Was it —¬?

No. Jirou texted him the picture they had taken together. The blond grinned at him sheepishly, pulling a half-smile to Atobe’s face.

“Come on, they’re waiting for us below. We’re all gonna get some pictures under the trees,” Jirou held out his hand and Atobe took it.

—

With Taki’s CD on infinite loop, it didn’t take long to commit the foreign songs to memory. They hummed and drummed with every tune, or mouthed the lyrics when they felt inspired to do so.

“ _I play the road,_ ” Atobe sang softly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “ _And the highway is our song_.”

Shishido propped his feet up on the dash and joined, just as hushed, “ _And every city’s like the same three chords in helping us along when the story’s told_.”

“ _And the crowd has come and gone_ ,” Atobe cut in, louder.

“Shakin off the miles, and tryin to make it home,” Shishido’s volume matched. He grinned at Atobe, quite unable to resist the challenge. They bellowed together,

“ _Every exit is a season,  
Every signal is a beacon  
And the wind, it carries me  
And it eases up my load_”

Ohtori, completely unable to help himself, began to thump the ground in time. Gakuto clapped, and even Hiyoshi looked marginally less miserable than usual.

“ _Everyday I drag the turns_  
Every candle still burns  
And every lesson I have learned  
Brings us closer to the crowd...

_I play the road —”_

Oshitari leaned between them to totally turn down the music. Completely insulted, Atobe glared. Oshitari only smiled and explained, “As much as I enjoy your dulcet tones, my loves, it’s Kenya with our itinerary.” Oshitari flipped open his phone to greet his cousin.

They hadn’t realized that there _was_ an itinerary for Osaka. Shishido had hoped to ride the ferris wheel with Ohtori; Atobe considered abducting Taki for shopping while Oshitari inflicted unholy mayonnaise on Gakuto and Hiyoshi. He further supposed that they could purchase a stroller large enough for Taki to push Jirou.

_I won. Stand in awe of my prowess,_ Atobe mouthed at Shishido, who rolled his eyes and used a single finger to tell his former captain where to go.

Oshitari laughter cut the battle short. “Of course, your grumpy thing is the DJ. MMhm. Yes, we’ll meet you at the bar. We won’t be — well, that’s a lie. We’re always late, but worth the wait…” frowning, he pulled the phone back. “The call was disconnected for some reason.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Hiyoshi sighed. If only a moose would pop into the road to murder them.

Atobe wouldn’t stand for the griping. “Explain.”

Oshitari shrugged and draped himself elegantly across the floor beside Ohtori. “What’s to explain? Kenya wants to watch his boyfriend DJ, so I thought we’d meet him at the club. Giraffe, if I heard him correctly.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Atobe frowned at the road, because driving a small boat made it difficult to properly freeze Oshitari with his hardened stare. “My people can suggest a suitable upscale —”

“I want to see the Giraffes!” Jirou popped out of nowhere to shout in Atobe’s ear.

_Game, set, match._ Oshitari closed his eyes, and didn’t open them again until Atobe parked them safely in a garage. He took up two full parking spots and refused to fix it.

“What kind of hotel doesn’t have a parking area,” Taki worried. As they rounded a corner in America-town, they found that Taki’s worry had been completely justified.

“A capsule hotel, Ryou?!” Gakuto hissed and shoved at Shishido’s backpack, knocking the man off balance.

“The smallest among us should not complain,” Oshitari sighed, and looked sideways at Ohtori, who didn’t seem to know what awaited them.

“What’s a capsule hotel?”

“Fear always springs from ignorance,” Oshitari wrapped an arm around the tall man’s waist. “Except for when it doesn’t, dear friend. But worry not, we giraffes will suffer in close, close quarters.”

Shishido growled. “No way! Choutarou is going to suffer with _me_!”

“We’re all suffering with you,” Hiyoshi considered that at least he would have a little bit of personal space. Not that he hated the other hotels. Mostly, he only pretended to mind sharing a hotel room with Taki.

The establishment seemed normal enough at first, if not a little grungy for Atobe’s taste. The last establishment hadn’t provided monogrammed slippers either, but Atobe supposed he could extend his fit of generosity to forgive this hotel too. That was until he beheld the two bed high rows of futuristic spaceship morgue holes that were to be their homes for the evening. Shishido must have truly wished to avoid the real world after university to decide on group suicide like this. If space was involved, Hiyoshi had to be in on it. The junior in question was too busy investigating his box to notice.

“Waaah!” Jirou exclaimed. “I want to sleep on top of Atobe!” he clamored past Atobe to climb into a top capsule.

Gakuto snickered.

“Easy for you to laugh, short stuff. I bet you already sleep in a cupboard,” Taki huffed, and put his purse down in a capsule. “At least they have television in these things.”

Atobe frowned. He expected to hear Oshitari purr something about making no noise and pretending to not exist. “Where’s Yuushi?”

“Maybe he crawled into another dimension,” Hiyoshi said flatly from inside his capsule. He had pulled down the blinds to isolate himself from the others. “Lucky Oshitari.”

“Oi, Yuushi!” Gakuto grumbled as he texted his boyfriend. “If you snuck into the girls’ section, I’m so going to kick your —”

A low, feminine moan emanated from the capsule Ohtori had occupied. Shishido went immediately red.

“KYAAHH! R-r-you!” Ohtori stammered. His long legs dangled out of the capsule and kicked around nervously. “God oh god oh god…I-I-HELP!!! I can’t!! It won’t turn off!”

“CHOUTAROU!” Shishido threw his bag to the ground as the feminine voice purred _oh yes big boy, more, oh YES._ “I’m coming!” Shishido barreled into the small space on top of Ohtori.

“A little soon, hmm? Does our Ryou-kun require some practice? Perhaps another pair of hands?” Oshitari chuckled.

Paying no mind to the strange, muffled yelps coming from a cubby not too far away, Atobe graced Oshitari with his most unimpressed side-eye. “Of course you’d appear for that opportunity.”

“Where were you?” Gakuto asked, butting one of Oshitari’s long legs with his hip.

“They have the same porn that our dear Ohtori found playing across from the bathroom. But don’t worry, love. There isn’t an erotic video in the world that could keep me from your side.”

“...If that was supposed to be romantic, it still sounds totally perverted.”

“Ah. But consider. I was watching for research purposes. I’m not a small, Gakuto. How is a man like me to fit into such a tiny space, I wonder?”

Hiyoshi rolled up the screen to his capsule to hit Oshitari in the face with a towel.

—

“Ah,” Oshitari moaned. The almost pornographic sound belonged in their capsule hotel rather than the arcade mall. “It smells like home.”

“By that you mean fried food?” Gakuto asked, keeping pace with Oshitari with two steps for his every one.

“Mmmm, precisely. Takoyaki?” Oshitari pointed to a takoyaki cart tucked next to a side opening.

Ohtori blinked, and grasped Hiyoshi’s shoulder to stop him from headed over. “Um...that takoyaki owner seems a little…”

“...Hiding,” Hiyoshi frowned. Surely enough, the takoyaki owner sat slouched behind his cart, curled up in a quivering ball. The takoyaki in question were being turned and subsequently eaten by none other than Shitenhouji’s former rookie, Tooyama Kintarou.

“This’ SO GOO!” Tooyama tried to say as he added another piece to his already full mouth. “‘oo ‘ob ‘oh mah — OH!!!” he looked straight at Hyoutei and swallowed the massive gob. Tooyama left the takoyaki to fizzle, planted his feet, and began to screech loudly, waving his tiny arms like a lunatic.

Taki leaned into Oshitari. “Do you still want takoyaki?”

Crossing his arms, Atobe fixed Tooyama with a glare strong enough to freeze even the sizzling octopus. “Tooyama-kun, I know you’re quite excited to see my face, but do contain your emotions.”

“ _Yatta_!” Tooyama cheered. “I summoned the monkey king! Didja see it Koshimae! Huh...Koshimae?” the small redhead darted to and fro, his anxiety climbing with every second that Echizen eluded him. “KOSHIMAE!!!”

Ohtori gasped. The takoyaki vendor seized his pant leg in one shaking, batter-coated fist. “Please,” he begged at a hiss. “You have to help me.”

“I…” Ohtori stammered, brain coming up short with what on earth to say to this adult on his knees.

“Tooyama-kun, we saw Echizen earlier. He was sitting in the McDonalds by the arcade entrance,” Shishido stood next to Ohtori and crossed his arms.

“Really?!” Tooyama perked up right away. “Thank you, thank you! Bye-bye now, Monkey King!” he sprinted off in a cloud of dust and takoyaki batter. Cries of _Koshimae_ echoed throughout the mall.

Ohtori looked at Shishido and smiled beatifically. “ _Shishido-san._ ”

“Don’t call me that!” Shishido flushed and scratched the spot beneath his short ponytail. “Call me properly.”

“Ryou,” Ohtori agreed, and took Shishido’s hand.

Oshitari teared up. Gakuto high kicked him in the bum before he could get any funny ideas about being disgusting in public.

—

Club Giraffe was just off one of the small side streets that hooked into the arcade mall maze that was Namba, the southern section of downtown Osaka. If Kenya hadn’t fetched them from the capsule hotel (more because he wanted to see his cousin struggle to fit in the narrow coffin than out of any real kindness), they never would have found it. As their stunning group approached, Atobe spotted the unstylish people waiting in front of an absurdly tiny elevator, and he considered abandoning their schedule all together.

Jirou slid an arm into Atobe’s. “It doesn’t really look like a giraffe, even though the building is tall. Why do you think they named it that?”

With the ability to invent anything with enough confidence to turn it to fact, Atobe said, “The owner must like Giraffes.”

“Ah, I see,” Jirou laughed and leaned against Atobe’s arm. His eyes drooped to half-mast, and yet, he didn’t seem sleepy. Atobe could feel the energy radiating from the blond. “Does Atobe like giraffes?”

“Not having made one’s acquaintance, I imagine that they’re quite dirty.”

“EH?! Atobe has never seen a giraffe? You’ve never been to the zoo?!”

“What should I go to the zoo for, ahn?” Atobe’s usual grandeur came off defensive. He couldn’t help it. Who had the time to go and stare at animals that had nothing to do with his life? The memory of his loyal afghan fulfilled any creature comforts he might require.

Jirou took Atobe’s edge with his usual flexibility. “Fun,” he smiled, and dragged Atobe into the elevator before anyone else could enter. With a grin too wide for anyone to be angry, he waved his fingers at the closing door.

“I can’t tell who the bigger idiot is,” Gakuto murmured gloomily to Shishido.

“Atobe. Atobe for sure.”

“I’m starting to wonder if he’s impossible after all. We should just let that fuckhead marry his company and be done with it.”

Shishido and Gakuto shared a sigh, because they both actually liked Atobe too much to let him waste away in offices all over the world.

Hiyoshi pressed the button to the elevator. And again. “I want to go back to the hotel,” he said.

“No phoning home tonight. The mothership will do without your capsule for a few hours,” Oshitari chuckled. Oshitari relaxed at Kenya’s side with a lazy arm drooped about his cousin’s shoulders. They were both in medical school and rarely found the time to meet.

When they arrived upstairs to the small, tightly packed club, Atobe had already bullied his way to the front of the bar. 

“Can you believe that they don’t have olives for a proper martini?” Atobe grumbled, quite scandalized. He sipped on his whiskey sour, which wasn’t all that bad.

Oshitari gasped and clutched a hand to his chest. “The nerve! I only like mine extra dirty.”

“...You don’t like them at all,” Gakuto said quizzically.

“Hmmm, no, but I liked the sound of that answer.”

“Of course. As expected of a fake megane.”

“Rude —”

“HIKARU!” the blond Oshitari leapt and waved at the DJ. Zaizen pretended to ignore him for his next track, but his slightly upturned expression gave him away. The beat picked up in response, thickening the adjacent dance floor.

Jirou put down his half finished tequila sunrise. “Atobe! Let’s dance, I love this song!”

“Ahn?” unable to hear, he squinted down at Jirou.

“I said, let’s dance!”

“Apologies, I can’t seem to —” Atobe leaned down, close enough for Jirou to seize his silk blend shirt and speak his request into Atobe’s ear. Flexible wrists uncurled from the fabric, which hadn’t wrinkled at all from the touch. That was what Atobe paid for, after all.

To keep his mind on fabric and not the sway of Jirou’s body (or perhaps the other way around), Atobe downed the rest of his drink and went to drown in the music too.

In retrospect, it was everyone’s fault.

Hyoutei operated in rounds and Atobe, being Atobe, had too much pride to opt out of even one. He didn’t even notice when he was the only person still drinking. Ohtori and Shishido were cuddling each other up by the bar, and their easy happiness flickered like a hallucination in the desert. Shishido went to the bathroom, leaving Atobe alone with Ohtori.

Strobe lights flashed. Atobe vomited in words.

“Hmph, you’ve become disgusting commoners. Flaunting yourselves in public.”

Ohtori was silent and tight-lipped, almost unable to believe that _Atobe_ was criticizing anyone for showing off, not that there were. “I —”

“You’ve been together since High School. Do you really think you’re going to be together forever and ever? What’s your plan?” Atobe leaned in closer to Ohtori’s face and squinted, not quite able to focus on his expression.

Even drunk, Atobe kept the ability to loom regardless of comparative height. Forcibly reminded of a documentary on how to handle aggressive bears, Ohtori floundered. He took a deep breath and pretended that he was at home, watching that documentary with Shishido.

_Talk to the bear in a calm voice and put your arms out to the side and move them slowly up and down. You want the bear to know quickly and without doubt that you are a person and not another bear or some type of prey animal._

“I...um...are you okay, Atobe? Can I get you some water,” he forced a smile and flapped his arms slowly.

No. No he really wasn’t okay.

Atobe felt sick, suffused with liquid dread and the burning, hateful feeling that he wished had come out of nowhere. Ohtori with his stupid face and his stupid happiness couldn’t possibly understand the answer to that question. Couldn’t possibly understand the shackles of Atobe’s responsibility. So he continued in envy of that freedom.

“That is your plan, isn’t it? You’re going to follow him after graduation from university too,” he slid his middle finger down the bridge of his own nose. “You’ll teach at the same school, nah, Ohtori? You’ll teach music and Shishido will teach PE. Every night you’ll go home together, cook together, and canoodle in front of the television.”

“Um...usually we get takeout.”

Atobe laughed. It wasn’t a kind sound. His vision shook with his shoulders. Naturally, Ohtori hadn’t a clue. He never did. “You’re such children, all of you. We see each other once a year to play best friends and pretend that life isn’t complicated. You, you and _Shishido-san_ live here in this _fantasy_ world.”

Shocked and hurt by Atobe’s sudden resentment, Ohtori struggled to stand his ground. Had Atobe been thinking of them this way the entire time? Or was this overflow of the immense pressure crammed down Atobe’s throat?

_A defensive bear feels you are a threat. It may woof, chomp its teeth, growl, weave its head back and forth, slap the ground with its front feet, charge suddenly or smacks its lips and salivate. It is stressed by your presence. Continue to talk to the bear and act in a non-threatening manner._

“I-it must be very difficult for you, Atobe,” Ohtori understood that after the death of his father last year, Atobe bore the weight of his company and name alone. “You’re right that I can’t imagine how you feel. But if there’s anything you need...I’m your friend.”

Atobe tossed his hair. It was a mistake. More than spite rebelled in his throat. “Are you?” his eyes seared into Ohtori. “You’re terrified, like I’m some kind of wild animal and you’re a sweetheart waiting for _Shishido-san_ to come.”

Just as Ohtori considered playing dead, Shishido flew in from the periphery to punch Atobe in the face. Atobe crumpled, clutching to the bar to keep from falling. “You don’t fucking talk to him like that, not even you!” Shishido got between Atobe and Ohtori.

Rigid with anger, Atobe clenched his fist to return the favor. His stomach saw fit to join the action instead. He emptied a trussed up college student’s fruity drink and replaced it with the liquid contents of his stomach. Takoyaki didn’t taste as good on the way up.

Atobe seethed at the couple standing against him. He could see concern at war with caution in Ohtori, and worry and protectiveness in Shishido. The indecisive behavior grated. He wanted them to comfort him or hate him, not this disgusting, half-hearted sort of pity.

“Excuse me,” he put the cup of his vomit on the table before the shocked student.

“Atobe!” Jirou wormed and squashed his way through the small crowd that formed. “Atobe! Your face...what?” he grasped Atobe’s wrist and cupped his cheek to better inspect the bruise forming there. Atobe tried to turn away, not wanting any of Jirou’s bizarre pity either. Pity did nothing for the pitied, only made the pitying feel better.

Atobe Keigo was _anything_ but pitiful.

“Don’t touch me,” Atobe wrenched arm from Jirou and stepped away from his gentle hands. 

“You’re all right, Atobe. Let’s go back to the hotel now, okay?” Jirou pushed on with a well-meant palm against Atobe’s back.

“I said, don’t _touch_ me!” Atobe whirled around to shove Jirou. The blond didn’t fall, but the crash of a chair he knocked over echoed through the entire bar. Atobe couldn’t look at the pain on Jirou’s face. “You stay away from me!” he insisted, strutting and swaying his way to the bathroom with as much composure he could muster.

Here he was, one of the most powerful men in the world, on his knees in a shitty bar and giving it all to a toilet. He wouldn’t cry, no, but he wanted to go back to five minutes ago to make Shishido regret ever marring his glorious visage. Go back to five minutes ago and…and…

Atobe sighed and dropped his head against the paper-covered toilet seat. There were people talking outside the stall, but he couldn’t quite hear them. Unknown hands pushed through his hair, holding it back when he retched again. Tears bit at the corners of his eyes.

“Kabaji...don’t tell anyone.”

“Usu,” Oshitari replied.

¬—

Atobe always knew the right thing to do, the right thing to say, to fracture any obstacle before him: to weaken and weaken to the final, shattering smash. There were many kinds of fractures, most difficult to heal and some requiring surgery. Humans broke in the most irregular ways and Atobe could see them all; he often threw himself at the things that he wanted most, just to see if they could bear up against his full weight.

The downside was that when Atobe fractured a person, or a relationship, it was never as simple as a bandage. Regret didn’t quicken the healing process. Tezuka Kunimitsu proved that much.

Atobe’s head was killing him. He bumped every cold shoulder on the way past the people-cubbies, but kept his heavy head high and proud. Considering his escapades last night and this morning’s task of bathing with the everyman, it was difficult to feel proud.

To make it more difficult, Oshitari was half-awake in the hot pool next to the showers. He wondered if the genius was dying of heat stroke. If that were the case, he supposed he had a few last minute words for Oshitari.

“Thank you,” Atobe said. He sat down on a shower stool, putting his back to Oshitari. Though he rarely expressed gratitude, Oshitari had earned it.

Oshitari shook his head. “You put on quite the show last night.”

“How many Oscars do I have to my name?”

“Costume design, obviously. Best visual effects; the vomit looked so real. I’d say best Foreign Language Film if you cared enough to include subtitles.”

Atobe ran the hot water over his head. It eased the throbbing a little. “Just as well. It wasn’t the kind of film an ordinary person could understand.”

Oshitari stepped out of the bath to start washing Atobe’s hair. “If the director will deny his audience the opportunity to try, he forfeits his right to complain about the review.” Scrubbing the soap into well-manicured locks, he continued, “In fact, the director should be pleased to receive any appraisal at all.”

“The film is perfect, like I am.”

“Jirou cried last night, while you were passed out. Ryou and Gakuto stayed up with him all night in the capsule.”

“He…” Jirou’s wide, hurt-filled eyes popped into his head unbidden. “Why should he cry? He wasn’t on my side.”

“No one is on your side, Keigo. Your side is ridiculous. Come back to our side.”

To that he had no response. Oshitari turned the hose on to gently rinse the shampoo from Atobe’s hair. In his low, comforting rumble, Oshitari continued, “Stop playing this game with your pride, Keigo. If you can’t scale it yourself, you can hardly expect anyone else to.”

It wasn’t untrue, but Atobe’s protective walls had no footholds for a reason. No one had ever overcome them. Kabaji never had to; he was already at the center when Atobe put them up.

Once upon a time, that wall had a door. He took it down last year, when all the knocking threatened to bring that door to the ground and flood his world with distracting _feelings_. This whole trip was about as subtle as dragging a catapult out to meet his formidable pile of stones.

Something that should have been obvious clicked in Atobe’s head. “...You fancy yourself Emma, don’t you?”

Oshitari’s laugh echoed through the bath. “My goodness, could you imagine Gakuto a model of all great, moral, and mature? Now, now. He’s no Mr. Knightley, but he’s quite mine, you see.”

Atobe wondered if he could ever call another person his own with such pride. Did he want another to even _dare_ refer to Atobe as his? He recalled his hideous show of jealousy from previous evening and perhaps, in doing so, answered his own questions.

—

They checked out of the capsule hotel. By the shoe lockers, Atobe reached for Ohtori’s leather slides before his own and set them at the younger man’s feet. He brought himself up to full height to stare up at Ohtori.

After a beat, Ohtori smiled like there wasn’t anything to forgive. “Thank you, Atobe.”

Just like that, a chunk of the tension melted away. He wondered if he was now seeing a bit more of what Shishido saw in Ohtori.

“I don’t mind you being jealous of me every once in awhile,” Shishido poked Atobe sharply in the middle of the back. “Just don’t be so lame about it next time. How’s the face?” try as he might, Shishido couldn’t hide the genuine concern in his tone.

Atobe ran a hand through his hair and tossed it. A mistake — that Echizen was doing a split step over his skull. “As perfect as ever,” he fought for a smirk and won.

“Oh, shut up,” Gakuto whirled round on him to stick his thumb to the center of his chest. Atobe felt like he was in a circus, trapped between two midgets. “You look like shit and you have work to do,” he hissed quietly, jerking his head toward Jirou, who sat staring sullenly at his shoes.

Atobe’s lips tightened guiltily. He supposed he _could_ apologize. Even in his head, such a gesture felt empty. Shishido and Gakuto pushed and pulled at Atobe until he was outside before the rest of them. Though Ohtori had no idea what was going on, he stepped in front of the door to ensure that they had a moment.

“You kicked in his manly pride, Atobe,” Gakuto gestured wildly. Frustration rolled off him in frenetic waves, but since that was his usual state, Atobe remained quite unconcerned.

“...His manly pride,” Atobe repeated, slightly incredulous. “And wearing that dress kept it pristine?”

“That has nothing to do with anything! Don’t change the subject!”

“It seems quite related.”

Shishido shoved at Atobe, who stood his ground and shoved back. Even now, he wasn’t about to let himself get pushed around. He crossed his arms and glared to haze the perimeter into tundra.

“You have to fix this. I don’t care how, but you have to,” Shishido said. In all honesty, he had never been so relieved to be on the other end of that glare. At least Atobe had come to his senses.

When Ohtori stopped holding back the tide, they were all too eager to leave the hotel and Osaka behind. Not that being in the car was much better. Chunks of pressure had been sieved, but the air remained thick and hard to pull from.

Atobe sat in the passenger seat, next to Oshitari. He didn’t notice Jirou boring tiny holes into the back of Oshitari’s driver seat for the first hour of their ride to Hiroshima.

“Ne, Yuushi, could you possibly drive any slower?” Gakuto kicked the back of the driver’s seat.

“I’m obeying the speed laws.”

“More like we’re going to get pulled over for going too slow. Seriously, step on it.”

“What’s the hurry, love?” if anything, Oshitari slowed down a little. Atobe left the bickering pair to lower the window and let the wind wash away his headache. The sight of a bridge stirred him from his thoughts. It was magnificent in that he really couldn’t see where it ended.

“Akashi,” Hiyoshi murmured, staring out the window.

“Have you ever driven over it before?” Taki asked, quite fascinated by the structure known as one of Japan’s greatest engineering feats: the longest suspension bridge in the world.

“...Never,” Hiyoshi answered. For once, he actively sat up and watched the scenery instead of his textbook. “It’s nearly 4,000 meters long.”

Oshitari took the turn for Akashi Bridge.

“The hell, Yuushi! This isn’t on the way!” Shishido complained, only because he was the one who put his back into planning everything.

Oshitari pushed up his sunglasses and smiled. “Hmm?” he turned up the radio and pretended to not hear Shishido. Windows down, they drove over the Akashi strait.

Oshitari had absolutely no shame in joining in with the blaring music,

_Looking back now on my life I can't say I regret it_  
And all the places that I ended up not the way Ma woulda had it  
But you only get once chance at life to leave your mark upon it  
And when a pony he comes riding by you better set your sweet ass on it 

Something in the wind over the water, or in Oshitari’s alluring voice, made even the most sulky among them want to join in for the chorus.

_You keep your heart above your head and you eyes wide open_  
So this world can't find a way to leave you cold  
And know you're not the only ship out on the ocean  
Save your strength for things that you can change  
Forgive the ones you can't  
You gotta let 'em go 

“You should join the Zac Brown Band,” Taki joked to Oshitari as they touched down on Awaji Island.

Oshitari chuckled and shook his head. “Do you think I’d look good with a beard?”

“Of course. You could pull off anything you wanted.”

“Ta, Taki-chan.”

“UGH!!” Gakuto complained loudly.

Shishido sighed and gave Gakuto a long-suffering look. “What now?”

“Freaking Kikumaru. His instagram is all stupid, lovey dovey pictures of the _Golden Pair_ on vacation together. They make me sick. Yeah, sure caption it _Japan’s sexiest acrobatic player_ ,” he huffed and flicked down through feed, grumbling with irritation all the way. “Like that isn’t the biggest lie ever.”

“Hey, are you saying you’d rather just be with Yuushi?” Shishido leaned back against Ohtori and frowned at the redhead.

“I don’t care who’s here and not here,” Gakuto growled. “I just refuse to let that Golden Pair get more action than me! Yuu—” oh, Oshitari was driving. No matter. Gakuto tossed his phone to the bed and leapt atop Hiyoshi. The geology textbook went flying. “Open up!” Gakuto said and shoved his tongue into Hiyoshi’s mouth.

Oshitari whirled around immediately to witness Christmas coming early. Thank goodness for Oshitari’s slow driving, because the RV went straight off the road and into the woods.

“AHHH!”

“What the?!”

“YUUSHI! WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“You bit my mouth!”

“CHOUTAROU!”

“I’m all right, Ryou? Is everyone else —”

“Where’s Jirou?!”

Atobe crawled out and quickly located Jirou behind his own seat. “He’s...asleep,” he realized with relief. One by one, they shakily filed out of the RV. Atobe dragged Jirou onto the ground below a tree before he could wake up.

“A tire just gave out. I’ll call my uncle and ask if that spare is okay to drive on,” Shishido sighed, once he assured himself that Ohtori was all right.

“The uncle who was abducted?” Hiyoshi asked, eyes suddenly bright for someone who had just been in a RV overboard.

More than a little mad that Oshitari ruined his picture for Kikumaru, Gakuto chased Oshitari around, lightly punching and kicking at the genius and letting him have it for picking the worst moment to perv out of them.

“The hell! My phone shattered! Piece of shit. Who has service?” Shishido took up Taki’s phone.

As Jirou started to stir among all the noise, Atobe walked away under the guise of having to use the toilet. It was easier than being alone with Jirou.

“And the award for best leading coward,” Atobe accused himself. He walked until he couldn’t hear Gakuto screaming. Until the pounding in his head forced him to sit down and re-evaluate every choice that led him to this point at the side of the road.

This wasn’t him. Atobe was never a coward. He was Atobe Keigo, one of the youngest fully responsible CEOs and business-owners of his time. He graced the covers of magazines. He forced conglomerates to their knees. The sound of his voice cowered and drove men older and more experienced to real success.

When he looked at his own weakness, he could see clearly now that the black hole of his career sucked all the life and spark from his personal reserves. What he needed wasn’t greater balance, but more strength to spread. Since when was Atobe afraid to push himself to greatness in any aspect of his life?!

Greatness wasn’t achieved by sitting pitifully in the woods, feeling sorry for his hangover.

Atobe pulled out his phone. The most perfect service that money could buy.

_SOS. -K_

Until the little _seen_ mark appeared, Atobe wondered if Jirou slept through the arguing.

The woods were silent save the sound of passing cars. Atobe tilted his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. Jirou messaged him back, but Atobe minded only the spots of color dancing on the black of his own eyelids.

Bushes rustled. Footsteps. A shadow.

“Atobe? Are you okay?” worry filled Jirou’s voice, for all the distance he kept between them.

Opening his eyes, he said, “I am now.”

“Why...didn’t you text Yuushi?” Jirou asked, coloring his concern with bitterness.

“Yuushi wasn’t the one I wanted to see,” Atobe patted the ground next to him. “My head hurts.”

“Oh…” Jirou flushed. Jirou sharply recalled Atobe’s voice demanding that he get away, but he fought it for the chance to sit next to him. Atobe’s cheek rested against his thigh and rewrote the conversation. Jirou no longer knew what to anticipate, but he had always trusted in his reflexes.

“...Jirou,” Atobe murmured. “I have something to disclose —”

“I think I know,” Jirou said, a hesitant smile growing on his face.

Taken aback, Atobe glanced up at Jirou, “You know?”

“That you don’t really need to be rescued, yeah,” Jirou dared to put his fingers in Atobe’s perfectly coiffed hair. “I didn’t either, at the temple...but it’s enough. That you wanted me to rescue you that badly.”

“Ah,” Atobe didn’t quite know what to say. A bird swung down so close that he was almost sure it would go for Jirou’s hair, bright and golden in the sun.

“...Who have you been texting, this whole time?” Jirou asked, cutting into Atobe’s intent bird watching.

Atobe blinked. “Texting?” it took him a minute to realize what Jirou was talking about. He chuckled and pulled out his international phone. The long string of messages, all self-taken pictures of Atobe, bore the little mark of _seen_ under each picture. “Kabaji wanted to come. He misses everyone a great deal.” Kabaji always went out of his way to send everyone cards on their birthday (blank), and the occasional message-less box of sweets from the U.K. “...He’s quite busy with his nephews, but I hoped to keep him apprised nonetheless.”

Jirou smiled and the sun seemed to shine brighter. Atobe worried that the bird might boomerang back. “Why don’t we send him a picture of the two of us?”

“Of course,” Atobe straightened out of Jirou’s lap and tossed his hair just so. Even if they were under a tree on the side of the road, he refused to look anything but dignified. He turned on the front camera, and fought for his breath as Jirou leaned in close to his neck. Atobe clicked the button. “No, we must do it again,” he frowned. “My eyes were closed.”

With a laugh and quick motion of his wrist, Jirou swiped Atobe’s phone to send the picture. 

“Jirou!” Atobe scolded, and reached around the blond for it. “No one takes my effects without reproa —”

“He responded!” Jirou giggled, enjoying the little game of keep away.

Atobe’s eyes widened. “What? He — give that to me.”

Showing Atobe his nice dimples, Jirou pressed the phone to Atobe’s palm. Surely enough, Kabaji sent back a little smiley face.

“I miss Kaba-chan too,” Jirou sighed. “Next time we can go to England and visit with him. And you.”

Something caught in Atobe’s throat. It took him a moment to speak.

“…Jirou.” His determined fist curled around his cell phone. “We are going to fix this RV and finish the road trip.”

“What? Atobe knows how to fix an RV? _Sugoi_!”

“I will see all of its weaknesses!” Atobe cackled and grabbed Jirou’s wrist to pull him back to the RV. Jirou smiled.

—

It took two hours. Mostly because everyone was too busy laughing at Atobe attempting to change a tire to be much help. They had intended to wait for roadside assistance, but listening to Atobe shit talk an inanimate object was vastly more entertaining. While Atobe got his typically pristine hands dirty, Oshitari read instructions from the manual. Jirou watched with energized admiration and handed Atobe everything that he needed.

“You did it!” Jirou draped himself over Atobe’s back in a hug, once the last fastening was secured into place.

Shishido went on his toes to peer over Oshitari’s shoulder. With brows like kissing caterpillars, he shouted, “Oi! That’s the section on air conditioning —…You knew how to change the damn thing the whole time?! Let me see that!”

With a secret smile, Oshitari shoved the manual down his pants and gave a little wiggle. “There are some places even the brave tread not, Ryou-kun.”

Atobe shoved Shishido into the dirt to take his turn chasing Oshitari until he soaked his Versace clogs in the horrible mud. It took a person on each limb to drag him kicking and shouting into the RV with Oshitari.

Jirou, buoyant and alert, slid into the driver’s seat. “My turn!”

“JIROU?!”

“Like hell you’re driving!”

“We’re all going to die…”

—

“I will keep the headquarters of Atobe Enterprises in Japan,” Atobe said, taking his first bite of Hiroshima-yaki.

“Seriously?!”

“That’s great, Atobe-san!”

“We can go shopping all the time now!”

“Good. It’ll be easier to crush you.”

Oshitari smiled and nudged Atobe with his foot under the table. He tilted his head toward Jirou, who fell asleep in his sauce before he could so much as take a bite.

Atobe chuckled. “I’ll tell him later.” Because there was an important person not present for the news, Atobe pulled out his phone. He sent a picture of their tired, fulfilled group and wrote, _Kabaji. The company will stay in Japan. Your feelings?_  
 _Seen._

He hadn’t expected a reply. The buzz of his phone stopped him mid-bite. _Usu. I feel fine._

“What is it?” Gakuto asked, stealing some squid from Yuushi’s plate.

While Atobe’s walls remained secure, he supposed that he could afford a rope.

“I feel fine,” Atobe said. “Pass the sauce.”


End file.
